Without Beginning Or End
by Bookwrm389
Summary: Maes makes a horrifying realization. Gracia receives a phone call. Spoilers for THAT episode.


_A.N. My current obsession is Hughes/Gracia. Ideas for stories for them keep going off like fireworks in my mind. This was jotted down almost as soon as I thought it up so it might be a little rough around the edges. Originally, it was going to be Gracia-centric, but then I watched THAT episode again and couldn't stop myself from writing about Hughes. I hope I achieved some kind of balance between the two._

Without Beginning Or End

"Isvhal and Lior...the east has been a real hotbed, huh?"

Captain Fokker nodded in somber agreement as he straightened up the office, neatly whisking some papers away from a dozing Sheska. "It's not just the east. There have been reports of uprisings in the north and west as well."

Maes sighed as he found the troubled cities on the map. "The bodies are piling up all over. The government's going to have a hard time keeping control at this rate..."

That was the moment. The very instant when something just _clicked _in his mind. And not one of those friendly, "Aha, lightbulb turning on!" kind of clicks. No, _this_ felt too much like a premonition to give him any sort of satisfaction. Remarkably, Maes was able to maintain control of his outward demeanor and facial expression even as his heart began to pound out a dire warning. All the little things gradually began to fall into place, inconsequential pieces of the puzzle slotting together and becoming part of a greater and more terrible whole.

Roy turning to him on the hot desert sands, gloved hand held up to show him the blood-red array. _The basis of alchemy is the circle. Energy can't be created or destroyed, only moved from one place to another. There has to be a flow, a path for it to follow... _

The shape of Amestris was roughly that of a circle. Maes had noticed before, but always written it off as some weird fluke. It couldn't be that someone had _intentionally_ drawn the map that way when they staked the borders and conquered the neighboring nations all those centuries ago. It was pure coincidence that, given the right twist of mind, it didn't look much different from the arrays on Roy's gloves...right?

Edward holding up a doodle of a five-pointed array, face grim and eyes burning with conviction. _A Philosopher's Stone is made from human lives. The more souls you use, the larger and more powerful the Stone becomes. I've never seen one bigger than a pebble, but theoretically, if you just had enough people to sacrifice..._

Bodies piling up. Pointless genocides, so much blood spilled in the name of defending an increasingly violent nation. And all of them, every single _damn_ one, made worse by the military's involvement. And if any human life could be used then it would be so incredibly _easy _to harvest the souls of your own fallen soldiers as well as your enemies.

In fact, it would be _perfect._

Fuhrer Bradley's cold, glinting eye as he faced the Ishvalan leader—the man who had surrendered his life for the sake of his people. _Do you honestly believe that your life is worth that of the remaining tens of thousands of Ishvalans? Each human life is only equivalent to that of _one _life. Nothing more, nothing less._

_Your life alone is not enough... _

An organization of people bearing the Ouroboros tattoo as a way to identify themselves. An alchemic symbol in and of itself. The snake eating its own tail without beginning or end. Life and death, creation and destruction. Breaking it down and starting the cycle anew over and over and _over..._

Armstrong flipping through documents, his words taut with outrage as unyielding justice radiated off him in waves. _I'll continue looking into the research team that was working with Doctor Marcoh. If the fifth laboratory produced these Stones for use in Ishval, then we must assume at least a portion of military senior staff are involved..._

"I'll be in the archive room," Maes said stiffly, ignoring the perplexed looks his subordinates sent his way as he walked from the office briskly. He had to be sure. He could _not _do anything rash now. He needed solid proof before he did anything further. Maes pretended everything was normal, forced a strained smile as he passed the people he had worked with every day for years. While on the inside he wondered just how many of them were potential spies placed by the very higher-ups they suspected of partaking in this...this _treason_.

For that was what it was. A betrayal of the worst kind. And not to the country, but to the people. There was no telling how far the manipulations went, how long this had been going on, how many of his choices had been influenced by this murderous cycle.

_The Philosopher's Stone... _

His feet quickened of their own accord, and Maes couldn't even see his surroundings anymore. There was no reason it _wouldn't_ work, even on that large a scale. As long as you knew the right sigils, possessed the right ingredients...

_Human lives..._

And sure, smaller circles were easier to hide, but maybe no one had figured it out yet because no sane alchemist would _dream _of controlling an array the size of a nation. None would be mad enough, _despicable_ enough, to activate an array that cradled millions of humans within its bounds. Men, women, _children_...

_Equivalence..._

Gracia's smiling face and Elysia's shriek of joy whenever he walked in the door at the end of the work day. Ed and Al sparring on the hospital roof, Winry recounting her childhood with them. Roy rubbing an aching head as Riza set a steaming mug of coffee on his desk. His parents, his comrades in the war, his coworkers, friends, rivals, loved ones—all the people that made up the fabric of his life, of his _soul_.

If that transmutation circle went off tomorrow...what would happen to them all? To their lives, their laughter, their happiness? Could he stop it, even knowing what he knew now? Could he even reach his family in time to hold them and tell him he loved them before...?

Maes burst through the door of the archive room and braced his hand against the nearest table, thankful for the darkness to hide his suddenly pale countenance. He clapped a hand over his mouth as nausea made his gut twist and roil. Never before had he wanted so badly to just curl up on the floor and _scream _at his helplessness. Even in the war there had been a higher purpose. He had known there _had _to be because otherwise there was no point in picking himself up each day and forcing himself to kill his nation's enemies, to cut them down again and again for reasons he didn't understand.

Until now, that is. God, he had _helped _these people. Every life he had taken in that war, every life _Roy _had taken...

Tears beading in Roy's eyes as he sobbed hysterically into his shoulder in the shelter of their tent. The only place he was safe from the harsh, judging eyes of his superiors and the desperate, blind faith of his subordinates. _I don't even know how many! How is it that I can't remember anymore? When did they all become so _worthless _that I can't even...?_

Maes wrestled a map off the nearest shelf and collected as many reference books as he could get his trembling hands on, not even possessing the presence of mind to keep quiet or to turn a light on. He feverishly looked up dates, places, names. Points, just points. Single points in history that no one had ever bothered to attach to a larger whole. He let his pencil flow over the map, connecting the dots, tracing the outer edge, and the very center coming to rest on...

And there it was.

_The power of one man doesn't amount to much._

Maes sucked in a deep, shaky breath, clutching the map and its secrets to his chest with new resolve. And even as he broke out in a cold sweat when the door snapped shut behind him, he still felt a surge of triumph. If he had figured this much out, surely he wouldn't be the only one. Even if he died tonight, someone else would one day tread in his footsteps. Maybe Roy, maybe Ed and Al. Someone would find a way to protect his wife and little girl and keep this country from going all to hell.

In the end, he had to believe that.

_But even so, with what little strength I have, I will do everything I can to protect the people I love._

"A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Colonel. Or...should I make that goodbye?"

"C-Cool tattoo you've got there..."

_And they in turn will protect the ones they love. That seems like the least we tiny humans can do for each other._

"You humans don't make any sense to me. You throw away your lives for nothing."

* * *

><p>The phone's harsh peal jerked her from her doze, and the book slipped from her slack grip and tumbled to the floor sans bookmark. Gracia looked down quickly, but Elysia's face was still peaceful with sleep. She remained cuddled in her mother's lap, draped in that musty old blanket that somehow still carried her husband's scent no matter how many times they each held it. Gracia rubbed tired eyes with the heel of her hand, stifling a yawn and grateful that Maes hadn't come home and discovered her sprawled on the couch like this. Gone were the days when he would sweep her off her feet and carry her to bed like a princess, but he had no qualms about kissing her awake and teasing her for failing to wait up for him.<p>

When the phone rang a second time, Gracia squinted at the clock across the room blearily and her focus sharpened. It was so late! He should have been home hours ago, and yet...

Gracia listened carefully, hoping to hear the tread of heavy footfalls or the turn of a key in the lock. But all was quiet. There was only the clock ticking, the icebox humming and the phone still ringing. Gently, she shifted Elysia so she could stand and pattered into the kitchen, holding her robe shut when the cold air assailed her. She shivered when her bare feet touched the icy tiles and closed her fingers around the phone's receiver. The fourth ring was cut off when she lifted it to her ear, and Gracia relaxed at the faint sound of masculine breathing. This must be Maes calling to say he was on his way and not to worry or that he still had a lot to get done and would be crashing at headquarters tonight.

"Hello? Hughes residence."

"Oh...Gracia," Roy said, and it sounded like he hadn't been the only one expecting to hear a different voice. "I'm sorry to bother you at this time of night."

"N-No, don't be silly," Gracia said quickly, just managing to suppress her disappointment. But mostly, she was just baffled. Any other time, any other day, she wouldn't have thought anything of Roy calling since the two men kept in frequent touch. It was the fact that he was calling in the middle of the night—on the one night when Maes wasn't there—that sent a thrill of apprehension up her spine.

"Is something the matter?"

"Hm?" Roy said distractedly. "Oh, no...at least I don't _think_ so. I was just calling because..."

Gracia realized she was holding her breath and made herself inhale.

"Did...did Hughes just try to call me?"

The uncertainty in his voice made her mouth run dry. Gracia couldn't recall ever hearing Roy sound this shaken. He was normally so collected, so sure of everything, and to hear him this on edge...

"I don't know," Gracia admitted, unconsciously mimicking his anxiety. "If he did, it wasn't from here. Maes hasn't come home yet."

"He hasn't?" Roy said in surprise. "When the operator said it was an outside line, I just assumed...and you haven't heard from him either?"

"No," Gracia murmured, coming fully awake now as they lapsed into silence. She found herself staring out the window at the street as though Maes would materialize on the moonlit sidewalk. A thousand and one possibilities paraded before her mind, most of them cast aside almost as soon as they cropped up. If he wasn't at the military headquarters then he was somewhere else. But Maes wasn't the type to just up and go to a club or a friend's house right after work. Even if it was some assignment for his job, he would have at least called first to let her know. He knew how she worried. And Gracia just couldn't fathom why he would call Roy all the way in East City instead of his wife in Central.

Unless...

An age-old fear rose in her gut, forming as a heavy lump in her throat and a cold fist around her heart. Oh no. She thought she had left this fear far behind her. Those long days and nights of waiting for his return from the battlefield, clinging to every letter, every radio message, chanting his name over and over in her mind and heart...those dark times should have been over long ago. And while Gracia knew his current position carried some degree of danger, Maes wasn't supposed to be taking those kinds of risks anymore. He _promised_ she would never have to live like that again, that he would _always_ come home to her and Elysia.

"Do you have any idea why he called you?" Gracia asked anxiously, hoping for a clue. Some sliver of news of her beloved.

"No," Roy said, frustrated. "And that's the strangest thing. The operator said it was him, but there was no one on the other line. I thought he'd call back right after I hung up, but he hasn't. And the code he used to get through is only for ..."

He cut himself off, and Gracia thought it best not to press him on the importance of whatever code he was talking about. "He promised Elysia he'd be home early today," she whispered more to herself than to him.

"I'm sure everything's fine," Roy said hastily, perhaps picking up on her disquiet. "It's...I'm probably just overreacting, that's all."

Overreacting to _what?_ Gracia wanted to ask him that, but the words got locked up in her throat and refused to be spoken.

"Yes, I'm coming, Lieutenant," Roy said quietly, and it took her a moment to realize he wasn't speaking to her. "I'd better get going. But Gracia, could you please have Hughes call me when you see him tomorrow?"

"I will," Gracia assured him. She shut her eyes, made herself take a deep, calming breath. Part of her wanted to call headquarters and see what had become of Maes or go looking for him herself. But that was out of the question. She couldn't leave Elysia alone.

But she knew her husband. She and Elysia were undoubtedly the center of his universe, but his orbit was wide, encompassing anyone and anything that happened to capture a place in his heart. If someone else needed him, he would give them his full focus until they could stand on their own. It was the cycle they had lived in since the day they met, and at the end of it all, Gracia just had to believe his love for his family would be enough to make him swing right back around to them.

"...he'll be home soon, Gracia," Roy said gently.

"Yes," Gracia answered, smiling as if the words had come straight from her love's own mouth. "I know he will."

With another apology for the late hour, Roy said his goodbyes and hung up. Elysia called for her mother, and Gracia seized on the distraction to go gather up her little girl and tuck her into bed. She was inordinately grateful that her daughter was too exhausted to ask after her father. Gracia wasn't sure she would have an answer for her. Outside Elysia's room, Gracia drifted through the hallway and past a vista of framed photographs, lingering over the very few with Maes in them. Their wedding day, the day Elysia was born. Here was when they first began dating, and some from when Maes and Roy were in the military academy.

In each one, he was smiling. In each one, his dancing eyes told her exact same thing.

_That's my girl,_ his letters from the front whispered in her mind. _Just stay strong for me. __I'll be with you soon, so until then..._

Until then, Gracia shut off all the lights and curled up on the couch with a book for company and that musty old blanket to keep her warm.

And she waited.

* * *

><p><em>A.N. In case you're wondering, I skipped the phone booth scene because I didn't think I could do it justice. It's too damn heart-wrenching.<em>


End file.
